A  r  m  ist  e  ^d  COi  o  rdon 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
ALEXANDER   F  MORRISON 


FOR  TRUTH  AND  FREEDOM 


FOR  TRUTH 
AND  FREEDOM 

Poems  of  Commemoration 


BY 

ARMISTEAD  C.  GORDON 

« 

RECTOR,   UNIVERSITY  VIRGINIA;  AUTHOR,        THE   IVORY 
GATE,"     '   ROBIN  AROON,"   AND         WILLIAM   FITZ- 
HUGK     GORDON  :     HIS    LIFE,    TIMES  AND 
CONTEMPORARIES,"  ALL  PUB 
LISHED  BY    THIS 
HOUSE 


NEW  YORK  AND  WASHINOTOK 

THE  NEALE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
THE  NEALE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


First  published  in  December  of  1910 


PS 

3 
SI 


A  limited  edition  of  two  hundred  copies  of  this 
book,  containing  five  of  the  ten  poems  now  in 
cluded  in  it,  was  published  in  1898,  and  has  long 
been  out  of  print. 


42779O 


TO 

LIEUT.-COLONEL  EAWLEY  W.  MAETIN 

OF    THE    53ED    VIRGINIA    REGIMENT,    WHO    LED 

THE  CONFEDERATE  LINE  OVER  THE  STONE 

WALL    IN    PICKETT'S    CHARGE    AT 

GETTYSBURG,  JULY  3,  1863. 


To  him  who  through  the  summer  sunshine  led, 

As  to  a  bridal,  an  immortal  line 
Up  those  wild  heights, — whose  feet  were  first  to 
tread 

The  wine-press  of  that  passion; — a  divine 

And  dazzling  glory  that  shall  deathless  shine 
Across  the  years  for  those  whoso,  spirits  stir, 

What  time  they  see  in  memory  Armistead 
With  hat  on  sabre  leap  the  wall,  and  hear 

The  cannon's  thunderous  roar  drowned  in  the 
charging  cheer. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  GARDEN  or  DEATH 15 

EOSES  OF   MEMORY 21 

"PRO  MONUMENTO" 27 

THE    FOSTERING    MOTHER 35 

MOSBT'S  MEN 43 

VITAI  LAMPADA 49 

THE  STONEWALL  BRIGADE 57 

FOR  A  SOLDIER 61 

NEW  MARKET:  A  THRENODY 65 

LOST  CAUSES:  L'ENVOI           73 


THE  GAKDEN  OF  DEATH 

"  The  grief  that  circled  his  brows  with  a  crown 
of  thorns  was  also  that  which  wreathed  them  with 
the  splendor  of  immortality." 

SAVONAROLA. 


Eead  at  the  unveiling  of  the  Confederate 
Monument  in  Thornrose  Cemetery,  Staunton, 
Virginia,  September  25.  1888. 


THE  GABDEN  OF  DEATH 
I 

Where  are  they  who  marched  away, 

Sped  with  smiles  that  changed,  to  tears,- 

Grlittering  lines  of  steel  and  gray 

Moving  down  the  battle's  way — 
Where  are  they  these  many  years? 

Garlands  wreathed  their  shining  swords; 

They  were  girt  about  with  cheers, 
Children's  lispings,  women's  words, 
Sunshine  and  the  songs  of  birds. — 

They  are  gone  so  many  years. 

"  Lo !  beyond  their  brave  array 

Freedom's  august  dawn  appears : " 
Thus  we  said :     "  The  brighter  day 
Breaks  above  that  line  of  gray." — 
Where  are  they  these  many  years? 

All  our  hearts  went  with  them  there, 
All  our  love,  and  all  our  prayers. 

What  of  them?    How  do  they  fare, — 

They  who  went  to  do  and  dare, 
And  are  gone  so  many  years? 

15 


FOR    TRUTH   AND    FREEDOM 

What  of  them  who  went  away, 

Followed  by  our  hopes  and  fears? 
Braver  never  marched  than  they, 
Closer  ranks  to  fiercer  fray. — • 
Where  are  they  these  many  years? 

II 

Borne  upon  the  Spartan  shield, 

Home  returned  that  brave  array 
From  the  blood-stained  battle-field 
They  might  neither  win  nor  yield. 
That  is  all,  and  here  are  they. 

That  is  all.     The  soft  sky  bends 

O'er  them,  lapped  in  earth  away; 
Her  benignest  influence  lends, — 
Dews  and  rains  and  radiance  sends 
Down  upon  them,  night  and  day. 

Over  them  the  Springtide  weaves 

All  the  verdure  of  her  May; 
Past  them  drift  the  sombre  leaves, 
When  the  heart  of  Autumn  grieves 
O'er  their  slumbers. — What  care  they? 

What  care  they,  who  failed  to  win 
Guerdon  of  that  splendid  day — 

16 


Freedom's  day — they  saw  begin, 
But  that,  'mid  the  battle's  din, 
Faded  in  eclipse  away? 

All  is  gone  for  them.     They  gave 

All  for  naught.     It  was  their  way 
Where  they  loved.     They  died  to  save 
"What  was  lost.     The  fight  was  brave. 
That  is  all;  and  here  are  they. 

Ill 

—Is  that  all?    Was  Duty  naught? 

Love,  and  Faith  made  blind  with  tears? 
What  the  lessons  that  they  taught? 
What  the  glory  that  they  caught 

From  the  onward  sweeping  years? 

Here  are  they  who  marched  away 
Followed  by  our  hopes  and  fears; 

Nobler  never  went  than  they 

To  a  bloodier,  madder  fray, 
In  the  lapse  of  all  the  years. 

Garlands  still  shall  wreathe  the  swords 

That  they  drew  amid  our  cheers: 
Children's  lispings,  women's  words, 
Sunshine,  and  the  songs  of  birds 

Greet  them  here  through  all  the  years. 

17 


FOR    TRUTH    AND    FREEDOM 

With  them  ever  shall  abide 

All  our  love  and  all  our  prayers. 
—"What  of  them?"     The  battle's  tide 
Hath  not  scathed  them.     Lo!  they  ride 
Still  with  Stuart  down  the  years. 

"Where  are  they  who  went  away, 

Sped  with  smiles  that  changed  to  tears  ? " 
— Lee  yet  leads  the  lines  of  gray, — 
Stonewall  still  rides  down  this  way. 

They  are  Fame's  through  all  the  years ! 


18 


ROSES  OF  MEMORY 

"  On  every  ragged  gray  cap  the  Lord  God  Al 
mighty  laid  the  sword  of  His  imperishable  knight 
hood." 

HENRY  WOODFIN  GRADY. 


Read  before  the  Pickett-Buchanan  Camp  of 
Confederate  Veterans,  at  Norfolk,  Virginia,  on 
Memorial  Day,  June  19,  1890. 


EOSES   OF   MEMORY 

A  rose's  crimson  stain — 

A  rose's  stainless  white — 
Fitly  become  the  immortal  slain 
Who  fell  in  the  great  fight. 

When  Armistead  died  amid  his  foes, 

Girt  by  the  rebel  cheer, 
God  plucked  a  soul  like  a  white  rose, 
In  June  time  o'  the  year. 

The  blood  in  Pickett's  heart 

Was  of  a  ruddier  hue 

Than  the  reddest  bloom  whose  petals  part 
To  welcome  heaven's  dew. 

I  think  the  fairest  flowers  that  blow 
Should  greet  the  life-stream  shed 
In  that  historic  long  ago 
By  this  historic  dead. 

The  immemorial  years 

Such  valor  never  knew, 
As  poured  a  flood  of  crimson  blood 
At  Gettysburg  with  you. 

Living  and  dead,  in  faith  the  same, 

I  see  you  on  that  height, 
Crowned  with  the  rosy  wreath  of  fame, 
Won  in  the  fatal  fight. 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

Not  these  had  made  afraid 

King  Arthur's  mystic  sword — 
Not  Bayard's  most  chivalric  blade, 
Nor  Gideon's,  for  the  Lord. 

Yours  was  the  strain  of  high  emprise, 

Yours  the  unfaltering  faith, — 
The  honor  lofty  as  the  skies, 
The  duty  strong  as  death. 


When  Douglas  flung  the  heart 

Of  Bruce  amid  his  foes, 
And  said :     "  He  leads.     We  do  not  part : 
I  follow  where  he  goes"  ; 

No  mightier  impulse  stirred  his  soul 

Than  that  which  up  yon,  height 
Moved  you  with  Pickett  toward  the  goal 
Of  freedom  in  that  fight. 


The  fair  goal  was  not  won, 

The  famous  fight  was  lost; 
But  never  shone  the  allseeing  sun 
On  more  heroic  host. 
Your  deeds  of  mighty  prowess  shame 

All  deeds  of  derring-do 
With  which  Time's  bloody  pages  flame. 
— Hail  and  farewell  to  you! 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

Unto  the  dead  farewell ! 

They  are  hid  in  the  dark  and  cold; 
And  the  broken  shaft  and  the  roses  tell 
What  is  left  of  the  tale  untold. 

They  are  deaf  to  the  martial  music's  call 

Till  a  judgment  dawn  shall  break, 
When  the  trumpet  of  Truth  shall  proclaim 

to  all: 
"  They  perished,  for  my  sake !  " 

Let  them  be  quiet  here 

Where  birds  and  blossoms  be; — 
And  hail  to  you,  who  bring  the  tear 
And  the  rose  of  memory 

To  water  and  deck  each  lowly  grave 

Of  those,  who  in  God's  sight 
With  loyal  hearts  their  hearts'  blood  gave 
For  the  eternal  right! 

Alike  for  low  and  high 

The  roses  white  and  red: 
For  valor  and  honor  cannot  die, — 
And  they  were  of  these  dead. 

The  private  in  his  jacket  of  gray, 
And  the  general  with  his  star, 
The  Lord  God  knighted  alike  that  day, 
In  the  red  front  of  War. 

23 


"PRO    MONTJMENTO    SUPER   MILITES 
INTEREMPTOS  " 

"  Gladly  we  should  rest  ever,  had  we  won 
Freedom:  we  have  lost,  and  very  gladly  rest" 
ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


Head  at  the  unveiling  of  the  Monument  to  the 
Private  Soldiers  and  Sailors  of  the  Confederacy 
at  Richmond,  Virginia,  May  30,  1894. 


"PRO    MONUMENTO" 

Since  that  spring  morning  when  the  first  dread 

gun 

Boomed  o'er  the  harbor  of  the  seaport  town, 
Fired  by  Virginia's  lion-hearted  son 

Who  would  not  live  to  see  his  flag  go  down, 
Long  years  have  passed  away, — 
Youth's  gold  has  turned  to  gray; 
The  old  men  fade  and  die;  the  young  age  day  by 
day. 

But  ere  pale  Death  shall  stand  with  equal  feet 

Hard  by  each  door — the  door  of  old  or  young, — 
That  glory  can  be  wrested  from  defeat 
Let  an  "  lo  Triumphe!"  here  be  sung, 
Yielding  the  meed  of  praise — 
Of  laurels  and  green  bays — 
To  young  and  old  alike  who  fought  in  those  lost 
days. 

Brighter  than  any  born  of  time  or  fate — 
More  beautiful  than  e'er  beheld  of  men — 

Fronting  the  nations  stood  the  fair  young  State, 
And  "Rebel"  was  the  splendid  badge  again 

27 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

Worn  by  the  sons  of  those 
Whom  Freedom's  feudal  foes 
Had   learned   to   bow   before   when  Washington 
arose. 

They  gathered  round  her  beautiful  bright  form, 

With  glittering  bayonets  fixed  to  ready  guns, 
Stirred  by  that  passion  Liberty  keeps  warm 
In  every  pulse  of  all  her  patriot  sons, 
Offering  upon  her  shrine 
The  sacrifice  divine 

Of  Love;  and  each  man  swore,  "Her  holy  cause 
is  mine !  " 

Her  cause  was  theirs  and  Freedom's.     For  such 

cause 

Men  have  died  gladly  since  that  ancient  day 
When  the  Three  Hundred  gave  a  Myriad  pause 
For  Grecian  freedom  at  Thermopylae. 
These  drew  the  Spartan  sword; 
These  knew  the  Spartan  word: — 
"  With  it,  or  on  it!"     These  the  Spartan  spirit 
stirred. 

On  the  most  glowing  page  of  human  story 
Are  writ  in  lines  of  light  their  deathless  names. 

Our  heritage  is  their  eternal  glory, — 

Their  record  of  undying  deeds  is  Fame's. 

28 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

The  immemorial  roll 
Of  her  resplendent  scroll 
Their  honor  and  their  valor  shall  extol. 

O'er  that  first  field,   made  red  with  their  first 

blood, 

Rang  through  the  tumult  as  a  bugle-call 
His  kingly  voice,  who  royally  bestowed 

On  Jackson's  soldiers  "  standing  like  a  wall " 
The  battle-accolade, — 
Knighting  the  great  Brigade, 
And  him  who  at  its  head  had  drawn  his  sword 
and  prayed. 

Booted  and  spurred,  his  troopers  riding  ever 

Ready  for  the  fierce  fray,  entwined  around 
His  brows  the  laurel-leaves  that  made  forever 
Thenceforth  the  name  of  Stuart  glory-crowned : 
They  followed  where  he  led; 
They  conquered  where  he  bled; 
Gladly   had  each  one   died  in  the   lost  leader's 
stead. 

Can  you  not  hear  booming  across  the  years 
The    thunderous    echoes    of    young    Pelham's 

guns? 

There  went  to  war  than  her  red  cannoneers 
None  higher-hearted  of  the  South's  true  sons. 
29 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

Whatever  else  betide, 
Down  the  dim  years  they  ride, 
Who  joyous  rode  to  death  as  bridegroom  to  his 
bride. 

Beyond  the  vast  of  time  we  can  descry 

In  memory  the  white  foam  and  the  sweep 
Of  the  great  ram,  Virginia;  and  on  high 

The  Southern  pennant  fluttering  o'er  the  deep; 
And  hear  the  sullen  roar 
Of  the  grim  guns  she  bore 

Proclaiming  Freedom's  fight  from  listening  shore 
to  shore. 

In  many  a  battle  on  the  wandering  wave 

The  sailors  whom  this  shaft  commemorates 
Wrote  high  on  Glory's  record  that  the  brave 
Who  fall  for  Freedom  sleep  at  Freedom's  gates; 
That  after  life  lived  free, 
Life  lost  for  Liberty 

Is  God's  most  gracious  gift  that  hath  been  or 
shall  be. 

For  Freedom !  aye !  for  Freedom !  'Twas  this  hope 

That  sent  the  steady,  steel-tipped  line  of  gray, 

Fringed  with  hell's  fires,  up  the  steep  slippery 

slope 

Of  Gettysburg,  on  that  most  fateful  day 
30 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

That  found  our  pathway  crossed 
By  an  outnumbering  host; — 
That  witnessed  high  hopes  flown;  that  saw  the 
dear  Cause  lost. 

Unfaltering  in  their  grave  fidelity, — 

Steadfast  in  purpose  to  the  bitter  end, — 
They  closed  thin  ranks,  and  set  brave  eyes  to  see 
And  dauntless  hearts  to  bear  what  Fate  should 

send ; — 

Not  looking  vainly  back 
Along  the  traversed  track, — 
But   facing  War's   last  blast,  its  hurricane   and 
wrack. 

When  came  the  bitter  end,  the  bugle  blew 

Its  last  sad  note,  that  brought  the  blinding  tears 
Down  wasted  cheeks  from  eyes  that  only  knew 
Honor  and  Death  through  all  the  weary  years. 
The  long  hard  fight  was  done ; 
Silenced  was  every  gun; 

And  what  we  lost,  e'en  now  they  do  not  dream, 
who  won. 

Let  not  the  worth  of  any  such  be  weighed 
By  battle's  balance.     They  who  glorified 

Their  righteous  cause  and  lived,  and  they  who 

made 
The  sacrifice  supreme,  in  that  they  died 

31 


FOR    TRUTH   AND    FREEDOM 

To  keep  their  country  free, 
Alike  gave  men  to  see 

What    hero-hearts    were    theirs    who   thus    loved 
Liberty ! 

They  did  their  duty  in  the  leal  fearless  fashion 
Of   antique   knighthood's   flower,   each  man   a 

knight, — 

Careless  if  Death,  dividing  peace  from  passion, 
Whispering,  should  greet  them  in  the  roar  of 

fight- 

Or  Life  to  ceaseless  pain 
Should  lead  them!  forth  again; 
Knowing  that  duty  done  is  never  done  in  vain. 

Time  shall  not  dim  their  memory.     The  web 

The  spider  weaves  may  hang  across  the  mouth 
Of  the  dismantled  cannon;  and  the  ebb 
And  flow  of  erstwhile  battle  in  the  South 
Be  but  the  shadowy  gleam 
Of  a  long  vanished  dream; 
But  ever  over  all  this  shaft  shall  loom  supreme, 

Silently  telling  in  majestic  beauty 

Through  all  the  years  the  story  of  their  faith, — 
Their  love  of  Truth,  of  Freedom  and  of  Duty — 
Transcendent  Love,  triumphant  over  Death. 
Harm  now  can  reach  them  never: 
Their  fame  is  sure  forever 

While  stands  the  sacred  Hill,  or  flows  the  shining 
River. 


THE  FOSTEEING  MOTHEE 

'  And  ye  shall  know  the  Truth  and  the  Truth 
shall  make  you  free." — JOHN  viii.  32. 


Bead  June  14,  1898,  at  the  dedication  of  the 
new  buildings  of  the  University  of  Virginia,  re 
placing  those  destroyed  by  fire  October  27,  1895. 


THE  FOSTERING  MOTHER 

The  dawn  of  summer  breaks  in  beauty  o'er  her, 
Crowned  Queen,  and  seated  on  her  throne  once 

more; 

Gather  again  her  children  to  adore  her, — 
To  hail  her  soul-compelling  as  of  yore, — 
Where  she  sits  girdled  with  an  olden  glory, 

Turning    the    latest    page    of    her    illumined 
story : — 

An  open  book  that  he  who  runs  may  read, — 
Annals  of  patience,  courage,  sacrifice, 

Blazoned  with  lofty  thought  and  splendid  deed, 
Science  and  song  and  battle's  great  emprise; 

Scroll  of  the  intellect's  majestic  sway; 

Scripture  of  hope  and  faith  that  shall  not  fade 
away. 

One  name,  before  which  none  in  all  time  ever 
Hath  been  or  shall  be,  shining  there  is  writ: — 

Worker  of  Revolutions,  mighty  giver 

Of  Freedom's  Charter,  and  the  Voice  of  it. 

When  kingdoms  shake,  and  iron  empires  fall, 
Through    multitudinous    time    shall    ring    the 
clarion  call 

36 


FOR    TRUTH    AND    FREEDOM 

Of  the  eternal  lesson  that  he  taught: — 
"  The  gift  of  God  is  Freedom."     Never  gift, 

In  all  the  ages  with  His  promise  fraught, 
Hath  been  bestowed  like  this  one  to  uplift 

Mortality  to  godhood,  and  to  light 

Man's  pathway  through  the  years  till  Time  be 
put  to  flight. 

It  is  the  gift  of  God.     Philosophy 

Might  not  devise  it;  art  might  never  limn 

Its  beauty;  in  the  realm  of  poesy 

It  were  undreamed  of,  were  it  not  of  Him. 

Science,  whose  feet  are  with  the  lightnings  shod, 
Had  never  found  it;  for  it  is  the  gift  of  God. 

And  when  the  nations  arm  them  for  the  fray 
With  hearts  of  fire  and  force  of  triple  steel, 
To  test  the  durance  on  some  fateful  day 

Of  Tyranny  or  Freedom,  they  shall  feel — 
Whether    on    blood-drenched    sod    or    wandering 

wave, — • 

The   conquest   theirs   who   know  its   sovereign 
strength  to  save. 

Let  us  rejoice,  then,  that  upon  her  scroll, — 

Whereon  our  Mother  reads  the  unfettered  creed, 
The  sacrificial  courage  of  the  soul, 

36 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

The    untrammeled    thought    that    works    the 

deathless  deed, — 

Is  written  first,  to  last  through  latest  years, 
This  gift  of  God,  though  gained  with  immemo 
rial  tears. 

Teaching  the  lesson  of  that  morning  Voice 
To  all  her  children,  peace  encompassed  her, 

Till  dawned  a  day  in  springtime,  when  the  choice : 
"  Death  or  Dishonor ! "  made  her  pulses  stir 

In  scorn  of  life  dishonored.     "  For  the  truth 
Go  forth  and  die ! "  she  said  to  her  immortal 
youth. 

The    drum   beat,    and   they    answered.     As   they 

stood 

In  the  forefront  of  war,  a  sacred  band, 
And  poured  the  red  libation  of  their  blood 

At  Freedom's  altar  for  their  native  land, 
The  stricken  Mother  wrote  in  words  of  flame: — • 
"  For  Truth's  most  holy  cause,"  o'er  each  re 
splendent  name. 

For    Truth    and    Freedom !     Not    the    nameless 

dead, 

Who  through  the  centuries  by  the  Grecian  sea 
Sleep  in  the  narrow  pass  they  kept,  shall  shed 
37 


427790 


FOR    TRUTH   AND    FREEDOM 

A  nobler  lustre  upon  Liberty, 
Than  these  heroic  hearts  to  whom  she  taught 
That    Spartan    fortitude    is    born    of    Spartan 
thought. 

Fronting  defeat,  she  heard  the  drumbeat  cease, — 
She  heard  the  cannonading  die  away. — 

Counting  her  graves  beneath  the  star  of  peace, 
With  her  dumb  memories  of  that  ended  day 

Sacred  to  Freedom,  glorified  by  death, 

She  turned  her  holiest  page  in  more  exalted 
faith. 

"  In  storm  or  sunshine  this  one  thing  is  sure, 

And  shall  be,  through  His  everlasting  years : — 
The  gift  of  God  is  destined  to  endure," — 

So  wrote  she,  "though  ye   take  it  e'en  with 

tears, 
Heartbreak  and  agony  and  bloody  sweat. 

They  who  have  loved  it  once  have  never  lost  it 
yet." 

It  is  her  lesson  still.     Her  slain  sons  sleeping 
A  last  long  sleep,  their  battles  all  forgot, — 
Whom  neither  love  nor  prayers,  nor  any  weeping 
Might  bring  back  to  the  land  where  they  are 

not, — • 

Speak  from  the  grave  the  message  of  their  gain, 
That  they  are  likewise  free  who  slumber  with 
the  slain. 

38 


FOR    TRUTH    AND    FREEDOM 

It  is  the  lesson  still  that  to  the  living, 

Who  gather  'neath  her  mantle's  ample  fold, 

She  gives  as  one  most  worthy  of  her  giving, — 
Better  than  fame,  and  finer  far  than  gold: — 

The  gift  of  God,  that  hath  been  and  shall  be, 
To  know  the  eternal  Truth,  and  knowing,  to 
be  free. 

Freedom     of    thought,    word,    deed, — the    wider 

scope, 

The  nobler  sense,  the  keener,  deeper  sight, 
The  truer  aim,  the  holier,  higher  hope, 

The  more  abundant  strength,  the  loftier  light, — 
All  these  are  written  fair  for  him  to  read 

Upon   her   open  page,   who   learns   her   larger 
creed. 

"  The  gift  of  God  is  Freedom."     To  the  end 
God  grant  it  be  the  lesson  she  shall  teach, 
Until  its  echoes,  circling  earth,  shall  blend 

In    one    deep    chorus    of    thought,    deed    and 

speech, — 
When  all  the  peoples  upon  land  or  sea 

Shall  know  the  Truth  at  last,  and  it  shall  make 
them  free. 


MOSBY'S    MEN" 

Honeur  fleurit  sur  la  fosse." 

OLD  FEENCH  SAW. 


Head  at  the  Seventh  Annual  Reunion  of  the 
survivors  of  the  Forty-third  Battalion,  Virginia 
Cavalry,  Mosby's  Men,  at  Fairfax  Court  House, 
Virginia,  September  11,  1900. 


MOSBY'S   MEN 

They  tell  the  tale,  with  magic  word 

The  spirit's  depths  to  stir, 
Of  him  who  fought  with  Sidney's  sword, 

Or  rode  with  Percy's  spur; 
For  Honor  bourgeons  from  the  mould 

And  blossoms  from  the  dust, 
Though  Percy's  shining  spur  be  cold, 

And  Sidney's  sword  be  rust. 

In  a  yet  unforgotten  day, 

When  hearts  and  hopes  were  high, 
A  little  band  rode  down  this  way 

Whose  fame  will  never  die. 
Their  cause  was  right,  their  blades  were  bright, 

And  Honor  shone  again, 
A  cloud  by  day,  a  fire  by  night, 

To  beckon  Mosby's  Men. 

The  wilderness  their  secret  kept, — 

They  bivouacked  'neath  the  blue ; 
The  tents  they  spread — the  sleep  they  slept — 

The  foeman  never  knew. 
No  bugle  blast  nor  tuck  of  drum 

Proclaimed  their  headlong  fight ; 
— The  startled  picket  saw  them  come, 

And  perished  with  the  sight. 

43 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

They  came  as  lightnings  come;  they  went 

As  swift  the  west-winds  blow; 
And  blood  ran  red  and  life  was  spent 

Where'er  they  met  the  foe. 
They  buckled  to  the  deadly  fray 

Where  they  were  one  to  ten. 
— He  spurred  and  drew  to  die  or  slay, 

Who  rode  with  Mosby's  Men. 


They  carried  on  their  sabres  there 

The  fortunes  of  the  Truth; 
The  breath  they  breathed  was  Freedom's  air, 

In  their  immortal  youth. 
It  boots  not  if  the  unequal  fight 

Was  lost,  though  fierce  and  long: 
— 'Tis  written  that  eternal  right 

Can  never  be  made  wrong. 

Down  the  dim  years,  long  gone,  once  more 

Appears  that  phantom  band; 
I  hear  the  clanging  charge  of  yore, — 

I  see  a  war-rent  land. 
The  vision  of  the  desperate  strife 

Eeturns  through  mists  again. 
— Those  were  the  bravest  days  of  life, 

The  days  of  Mosby's  Men. 


FOR    TRUTH   AND    FREEDOM 

The  bravest  days  of  all  that  shine 

Through   immemorial    years; 
Days  of  life's  sacrificial  wine, 

Of  Love's   divinest  tears; 
When  Valor  guarded  all  the  land, — 

When  hearts  and  hopes  were  high, — 
And  Love  and  Death  went  hand  in  hand 

With  Faith,  that  could  not  die. 


—But  Harry  Percy's  spur  is  cold, 

And  Sidney's  sword  is  rust; 
And  many  a  lad,  who  rode  of  old 

With  that  gay  band,  is  dust. 
While  those,  bereft,  who  linger  yet, 

Are  wearier  now  than  then: — 
—What  matter?     They  cannot  forget 

That  they  were  Mosby's  Men; — 

• — That  they  were  Mosby's  Men,  and  rode, 

As  soldiers  love  to  ride, 
Where  the  red  stream  of  battle  flowed 

With  its  most  swelling  tide. 
— No  other  stream  may  run  so  red, — 

No  higher  tide  may  flow, — 
Till  God  shall  wake  the  dreamless  dead, 

When  the  last  trumpets  blow. 

45 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

— The  circling  seasons  come  and  go, 

Springs  dawn,  and  autumns  set; 
And  winter  with  its  drifted  snow 

Repays  the  summer's  debt; 
And  song  of  bird  and  tint  of  bloom 

Are  gay  and  bright,  as  when 
Those  gallant  lads  rode  to  their  doom, 

Long  since,  with  Mosby's  Men. 

But  winter  wears  a  sadder  guise, 

And  ghastlier  for  its  snow, 
To  him  who  looks  with  time-worn  eyes 

On  scenes  of  long  ago; 
And  neither  autumn's  glow,  nor  spring, 

Nor  summer's  emerald  sod 
To  hearts  grown  old  again  may  bring 

The  dead  who  sleep  with  God. 

It  is  His  will.     The  sword  may  rust 

That  battles  for  the  right; — 
The  banner  may  be  trailed  in  dust 

That  leads  the  holiest  fight; — 
And  Wrong  may  wear  the  victor's  name, 

Where  one  shall  strive  with  ten; — 
But  fate  can  never  take  from  fame 

The  deeds  of  Mosby's  Men. 


VITAI    LAMPADA 

A   SONG  FOR  A  CENTENARY  TEAE 

Et  quasi  cursores  vitdi  lampada  tradunt' 
LUCRETIUS,  "  De  Natura  Rerum,"  ii.  7 


Read  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society  of 
William  and  Mary  College,  Williamsburg,  Vir 
ginia,  February  19,  1901. 


VITAI    LAMPADA 

A  SONG  FOR  A  CENTENARY  YEAR 

Unto  the  year  of  liberty  , 

He  kept  the  gift  his  master  gave, 
Who  wore  the  shackles  of  the  slave; 

But  when  death's  hand  had  set  him  free, 
He  lost  it  in  the  grave.1 

N"o  child  of  his  might  hope  to  reap 

The  harvest  where  his  hand  had  sown; 
No  vassal,  where  the  high  sun  shone 

On  earth,  his  father's  field  might  keep 
Unhindered  as  his  own. 

Old  forces  of  the  fettered  earth — 
Sultan  and  emperor  and  king, — 
Scorned  the  poor,  patient,  plodding  thing 

That  crawled  and  crept  to  death  from  birth, — 
For  whom  death  had  no  sting. 

Through  circling  centuries  the  years 
Were  born  and  withered  into  dust; 
And  power  still  wrenched  from  hopes  august 

The  fruits  of  immemorial  tears 
In  rapine  and  in  lust. 

lEzekiel,  46:17. 

49 


FOR    TRUTH    AND    FREEDOM 

And  then  there  came  the  voice  of  One 
Crying  amid  the  wilderness, 
Like  John's,  above  that  dumb  distress : 

"  The  day  dawns.     An  all-golden  sun 
Rises,  the  world  to  bless ! 

"  For  her  it  makes  the  pathway  clear 

Who  bends  no  knee  and  knows  no  rod, — 
Who,  springing  from  War's  bloody  sod, 

Yet  bears  what  men  shall  hold  most  dear : — 
The  perfect  peace  of  God. 

"  Her  name  is  Freedom ;  and  her  home, 
Upbuilded  here  by  patriot  hands, 
The  opprest  shall  hail  from  alien  lands, 

Where  tyrants  bind  beyond  the  foam 
The  soul  with  iron  bands." 

And  ancient  and  immortal  hope 

Returned — the  hope  that  men  had  had, 
And  lost — what  time  that  clear  voice  bade 

The  long-locked  gates  of  morning  ope, — 
The  enlightened  world  be  glad. 

And  in  that  dawn  of  liberty 

They  saw  how  good  the  gift  God  gave, — 
The  brave  gift  given  to  the  brave, — 

The  free  gift  given  for  the  free, — 
His  gift,  that  true  men  crave. 

50 


FOR    TRUTH    AND    FREEDOM 

They  took  the  gift  in  scorn  of  those 

Who  bowed  the  head  and  crooked  the  knee, — 
Who,  blind  and  sordid,  would  not  see; — 

And  held,  against  embattled  foes, 
The  guerdon  of  the  free. 

They  toiled  and  wrought  in  faith  and  hope, 
And  reared  and  builded,  large  and  strong, 
A  Temple,  where  the  opprest  might  throng, — 

A  house,  from  corner-stone  to  cope 
Buttressed  against  the  wrong. 

And  dwelling  'neath  serener  skies 

They  lived  with  Truth  and  Peace  and  Right; 

While  fled  from  that  etherial  light 
The  fading  wrongs  and  groping  lies 

That  battened  on  the  night. 

Love,  fraught  with  knowledge,  handed  down 
The  hallowed  boon  from  sire  to  son. 
— Who  saw  their  handiwork  well  done, 

And  slept,  foresaw  the  centuries  crown 
The  work  their  hands  begun. 

The  freedom  of  the  unshackled  man 

Inspired  the  order  of  the  state; 

Peace,  smiling,  sat  within  the  gate; 
And  where  Love's  perfect  purpose  ran, 

Hope  held  no  fear  of  Fate. 

51 


FOR    TRUTH   AND    FREEDOM 

And  then  dark  winds  arose,  and  drave 
Dun  clouds  across  a  sullen  sky. 
The  Temple's  veil  was  rent.     A  cry 

Above  the  tumult  rang:     "We  save 
The  gift  of  God,  or  die ! " 

And  hearkening,  as  their  sires  of  old 

Who  heard  that  earlier  trumpet  call, 
They  answered  from  the  outer  wall: 

"  We  pledge  our  richer  things  than  gold, — 
Our  lives,  our  loves,  our  all ! " 

Their  heads  are  grizzled  now,  who  drew 
The  mother's  milk  that  day,  when  War 
Eose  on  the  horizon  like  a  star 

To  kindle  hope; — when  Freedom  grew 
So  near  that  was  so  far. 

And  clouds  have  lowered  and  fled;  and  suns 
Have  shone;  strange  faces  intervene; 
The  blood-stained  grass  is  ever  green; 

And  only  in  our  dreams  the  guns 
Peal,  and  the  flag  is  seen. 

In  all  the  wars  of  all  the  world 

That  men  have  known  on  land  or  sea, 
Where  Hope  hath  welcomed  Liberty, 

No  fairer  flag  was  e'er  unfurled 
Than  this,  to  lead  the  free. 

52 


No  belted  knight,  who  in  his  grave 

Hath  long  since  crumbled  into  dust, 
E'er  drew  a  blade  in  cause  more  just; 

Nor  hero  fought  a  fight  more  brave, — 
A  battle  more  august. 

Far  off  the  bayonets  mix  and  gleam, 
The  tides  of  conflict  ebb  and  flow; 
The  shotted  guns  of  long  ago 

Boom  faint  and  far;  as  in  a  dream 
The  battle-bugles  blow. 

Though  but  in  dreams  they  gather  yet, — 
If  but  in  dreams  their  faces  shine, — 
God  keep  for  us  those  dreams  divine, 

That  we  through  life  may  not  forget 
To  love  the  thin  gray  line. 

•— "  Here  rest  who  for  their  country  died, 
And  with  it:  they  are  fallen  on  sleep," 
The  Roman  wrote. — But  we?    We  keep 

The  ancient  altars  lit  beside 

The  graves  of  those  we  weep. 

There  flames  the  fire  that  shall  not  wane, 
Caught  from  the  torch  that  ever  burns; 
And  thence  celestial  Hope  returns, 

That,  dying,  springs  to  life  again 
From  our  funereal  urns. 

5® 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

And  this  the  litany  we  pray: 

That  God  who  made  may  keep  us  free ; 

That  storms  may  vex  no  more  the  sea, 
Where,  brooding  'neath  a  cloudless  day, 

Still  sits  Alcyone. 


54. 


THE    STONEWALL    BRIGADE 

tf  We  shall  find  our  lost  youth  when  the  bugle  is 
blown." 

THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGQINSON. 


Read  at  the  Beunion  of  the  survivors  of  the 
Stonewall  Brigade,  at  Staunton,  Virginia,  Octo 
ber  16,  1901. 


THE    STONEWALL    BRIGADE 

They  come  again,  who  in  immortal  story, 

Past  failure,  death  and  tears, 
Bore  their  unfading  banner  to  its  glory 

Through  the  laborious  years. 

The  frost  is  in  their  veins;  the  feet  are  laggard, 

That  sped  to  meet  the  foe; — 
Yet  shines  on  every  face,  however  haggard, 

The  light  of  long  ago. 

For  each  the  peaceful  years  have  vanished,  seeing 

His  comrades  marching  there. 
Once  more  they  live  and  move  and  have  their 
being 

In  a  diviner  air. 

And  shaking  off  the  pulseless,  feeble  fashion 

Of  this  degenerate  day, 
They  thrill  again  with  the  heroic  passion 

Of  Stonewall  Jackson's  Way. 

—What  boots  it,  though  the  fight  was  lost? 

—They  fought  it 
As  soldiers  should: — That  youth 

57 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

Passed  with   it,   and  was   lost  too?    Lo!   these 

thought  it 
Well  spent,  since  for  the  Truth. 

They  march  with  ghosts  of  comrades,  dead  and 

gory,— 

Down  the  autumnal  years 
Still    bearing    that    rent    banner,    starred    with 

glory, 
Past  failure,  death  and  tears. 

Lost  Cause !  Lost  Youth ! — Nay,  out  of  War's  red 

sowing 

Hath  sprung  the  harvest  grain: 
Their     cause    is    Fame's;    and   the    old   bugles, 

blowing, 
Bring  back  their  youth  again. 


58 


FOR   A  SOLDIEB 

"  I  have  fought  a  good  fight; 
I  have  kept  the  faith" 


Harry  C.  Tinsley,  Kichmond  Howitzers,  C.  S.  A., 
1861-1865.     Died  Aug.  21,  1902. 


FOE   A   SOLDIER 

Not  'mid  the  din  of  battle  long  ago, 

But  in  the  lingering  clutch  of  later  pain 
Death  found  him,    whom    we  shall    not  see 
again 

Lifting  a  fearless  front  to  every  foe. 

Yet  shall  suns  somewhere  shine  for  him,  and  blow 
The  lilies  and  the  roses  without  stain, 
Who,  through  the  lengthened  years,  in  heart 
and  brain 

Knew  most  of  storm  and  winter  with  its  snow. 

For  it  is  written  in  the  starry  sky, — 

In  the  vast  spaces  and  the  silences, — 
That  God's  eternal  universe  is  his 

Who  fears  not,  though  he  live  or  if  he  die. 

— A  soldier  to  the  dauntless  end  was  he, 
As  riding  with  his  red  artillery. 


61 


NEW   MAEKET 

A    THRENODY 

"  Theirs  were  not  souls  wherein  dull  Time 
Could  domicile  decay}  or  house 

Decrepitude! 

They  passed  from  earth  ere  manhood's  prime, 
Ere  years  had  power  to  dim  their  brows, 

Or  chill  their  blood." 

JAMES  CLARENCE  MANGAN,  "The  Princess  of 
Tir-,  Owen  and  Tir-Connell." 


Read  June  23,  1903,  at  the  dedication  of  Sir 
Moses  Ezekiel's  Monument  to  the  memory  of  the 
Cadets  of  the  Virginia  Military  Institute  who 
fell  in  the  battle  of  New  Market,  Va.,  May  15, 
1864. 


NEW  MAEKET 

How  shall  the  eternal  fame  of  them  be  told, 
Who,  dying  in  the  heyday  of  life's  morn, 

Thrust  from  their  lips  the  chalice  of  bright  gold 
Filled  to  the  brim  with  joy,  and  went  forlorn 

Into  the  abysmal  darkness  of  that  bourn, 

Whence    they    who    thither    go    may    nevermore 
return  ? 

The  circling  seasons  pass  in  old  progression 

Of  beauty  and  of  immortality; 
The  ancient  stars  march  on  in  far  procession, 
And  immemorial  winds  sweep  o'er  the  sea; 
The    mountains    drop    their    wine;    the    flowers 

bloom ; 

While  these,  who  should  have  lived,  sleep  in  an 
early   tomb. 

No  blight  had  touched  the  garlands   that  they 

wore, 

Dewy  and  fresh  with  innocence  and  ruth; 
No  dead  illusions  or  spent  glamours  bore 

With  heaviness  upon  them.     Their  gay  youth 
Caught  but  the  bubbles  on  the  beaker's  brim, 
oSTor  e'er  beheld  life's  lees  with  eyes  grown  old 
and  dim, 

65 


Were  they  in  love  with  death's  forgetfulness, 
Thus  to  lie  down  with  the  enduring  dead? 

Had  wood  and  stream  lost  all  their  loveliness, 
Or  morning's  sunshine  faded  overhead, 

That  they  sought  surcease  of  life's  sorrows  there, — 

Leaving  wan  Love  to  weep  o'er  boyhood's  sunny 
hair? 

All  the  old  questionings  rise  to  our  lips 
In  the  sad  contemplation  of  Youth  slain: 

Life's  hidden  meaning,  and  Death's  dark  eclipse, — 
The  passion  and  the  pathos  and  the  pain; — 

The  unanswering  answer  that  the  wisest  reads 

In    the    grim    mystery    that    hangs    behind    the 
creeds. 

And    yet — and    yet — we    old,    whose    heads    are 

gray, 
Whose  hearts  are  heavy,  and  whose  steps  are 

slow 

With  journeying  on  this  rough  and  thorny  way, — 
We,  who  live  after  them, — what  may  we  know 
Of  their  ecstatic  rapture  thus  to  have  died, — 
The  marvellous,  sleepless  souls  that  perished  in 
their  pride? 

If  the  worn  hearts  and  weary  fall  on  sleep 
With  a  deep  longing  for  its  sweet  repose, 

66 


Shall  not  they,  likewise,  whom  the  high  Gods 

keep, 

Die,  while  yet  bloom  the  lily  and  the  rose? 
To  each  man  living  comes  a  day  to  die : — 
What    better    day,    than    when    Truth    calls    to 

Liberty  ? 

Writ  in  the  rocks,  the  world's  primeval  page 
Is  old  past  human  skill  to  interpret  it, 

Save  where  it  speaks  to  grief  of  man's  gray  age, 
And  with  the  end  of  all  things  is  o'erwrit: — 

All  things  save  one,  that  hath  unfading  youth 

And    strength    and    power    and    beauty, — clear- 
eyed  Truth. 

On  mountain  top — in  valley — by  the  sea, — 
Wherever  sleep  the  patriots  who  have  died 

In  her  high  honor, — at  Thermopylae, — 

At  Bannockburn, — or  where  great  rivers  glide 

To  the  wide  ocean  bordering  our  own  shore, 

Truth  sees  the  holy  face  of  Freedom  evermore ! 

The  blood-stained  face    of   Freedom,  that  hath 

wrought 

For  man  a  magic  and  a  mystery: 
Whose  bright  blade,  e'en  when  broken,  yet  hath 

bought 
A  grave  with  the  eternal  for  the  free. 

67 


FOR    TRUTH   AND   FREEDOM 

— Freedom  and  Truth, — these  went  beside  them 

there, 
Marching  to  deathless  death,  forever  young  and 

fair. 

— "  Send  the  Cadets  in, — and  may  God  forgive !  " 
—Who  spake  the  words  had  welcomed  rather 

death. 
But  Truth  dies  not,  and  Liberty  shall  live, 

E'en    though    Youth   wither   in   the    cannon's 

breath. 

— And  at  the  order,  debonair  and  gay, 
They  moved  into  the  front  of  an  immortal  day. 

"  Battalion  forward !  "  rang  the  sharp  command ; 

"  Guide  centre ! "  and  the  banner  was  unfurled. 
Then,  as  if  on  parade,  the  little  band 

Dressed  to  the  flag.     A  sad  and  sombre  world 
Thrills  with  the  memory  of  how  they  went 
Into  that  raging  storm  of  fire  and  carnage  blent. 

A  worn  and  weary  world  in  sorrow  weeps 

For  high  hopes  vanished  at  life's  sunny  morn; 
— Yet  Truth,  with  eyes  that  never  falter,  keeps 
Her  gaze  on  Freedom's   face,  that  smiles   in 

scorn 
Of    death    for    them    who    wear    the    laurelled 

crown, — 

The    early    dead,    who    died    with    an    achieved 
renown. 

68 


Creeds  fade;  faiths  perish;  empires  rise  and  fall; 

And  as  the  shining  sun  goes  on  his  way, 
Oblivion  covers  with  a  dusty  pall 

The  life  of  man,  predestined  to  decay. 
— Yet  is  there  one  thing  that  shall  never  die: 
The  memory  of  the  Dead  for  Truth  and  Liberty. 


69 


LOST  CAUSES 
(L'Exvoi.) 

They  never  fail,  who  die  in  a  great  cause." 
BYRON:  "Marino  Faliero"  Act  II,  Sc.  2. 


LOST  CAUSES 
(L'ENvoi) 

Cause  of  the  Freed  Souls,  tempest-tossed, 
Who  passed  in  battle,  and  whose  names 
Are  Glory's  own — thy  splendor  flames 

Beyond  the  stars!    No  cause  is  Lost 
Whose  dead  are  Love's  and  Fame's. 


73 


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